For Jackie
by NikiRadcliffe
Summary: I wrote this story as a joke for my friend. Don't read it.


Kurt never liked hospitals.

Correction, he was perfectly okay with them until his father had a near fatal arrhythmia, leaving him in a coma for days and Kurt worried sick that he would be left alone, just when he started feeling accepted.

So, naturally, Kurt had tried to prolong the surgery as long as possible, hoping that things would get better like in Rachel's case, but they didn't.

Kurt had a raging case of tonsillitis, which wouldn't be tamed by medicine or vitamins. The moment it started affecting his regular speaking voice was when Kurt threw in the towel and decided to get the surgery.

It was a normal day, when Kurt went in. The regularities and organization of the forms calmed him slightly. Yes, he was 17. No, he wasn't on any medication. Yes, he was sexually active. His eyebrows lifted at that question, especially for such a routine surgery, but he answered it nonetheless. He was wheeled away in his hospital bed, leaving his dad and the comfort of familiarity behind him. The walls were so white; they almost mocked Kurt with their simple design.

Before he knew it, he was placed in the surgery room. The walls were sickly metallic silver, and Kurt could see his face in the ceiling when he looked up. He was transferred to another bed and a mask was attached to his face. He was told to count down from ten.

He couldn't remember anything after 8.

Kurt woke up, drowsy as ever and confused. Where was he? Why did his throat hurt? The memory of the surgery was very slowly coming back to him. He was remembering bits and pieces of that week, and then that day. He looked around, expecting his dad to be there, but no one was.

He then realized that he was still in the metallic surgery room. Panic started to set in Kurt's mind, as thoughts of the doctors forgetting about him entered his mind. He'd seen those shows with the worse case scenarios in hospitals. What if he had the wrong procedure, or the anesthesia wore off too early?

The sound of footsteps woke him from his panic. The steps were rhythmic and bouncy, like someone had been singing and dancing outside the door. The door opened slightly, and someone stuck their head in.

Blaine.

"Blaine, what are you doing here?" Kurt hoarsely whispered. He would've moved to hug Blaine, but his limbs still were affected by the medicine. His whole body, besides his head, felt like a brick.

"Oh, you know, I heard you were having a surgery and I convinced my dad to come let me see you." Blaine's dad was the lead surgeon at the hospital. Mr. Anderson naturally mentioned the surgery in passing to Blaine, assuming Blaine knew about it, even before Kurt had decided on it. Blaine was glad that Kurt was going in for surgery, but a little hurt that Kurt hadn't discussed it with him. That led to their first fight, and their first foray into angry and make up sex.

"Why am I… Why am I here, still?" Kurt asked, groggily looking up at the mirrored ceiling.

"You know, I've watched my dad do so many surgeries before. Even as a kid, I'd stay in the room and watch in a corner. It's probably so illegal, what you can get away with, being the lead surgeon's kid." Kurt was perplexed at the turn the conversation went, but Blaine often spoke in a complex matter, so Kurt didn't object to the fact that he didn't answer his question.

"You got away with things? Like what?"

"Well, for one…" Blaine walked around Kurt's bed, towards the clean tools that were drying on the counter, "I requested that you were given extra time in this room, to recover. And I requested that they let me in, so you can see me when you wake up. So I can be here for you." Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand, and squeezed. Well, Kurt thought he squeezed. He still couldn't exactly feel his hands yet.

"Oh Blaine. That's so… sweet of you. You didn't have to."

"Oh yes, I did." Blaine laughed. He let go of Kurt's hand and picked up the tray of surgical knives.

"I needed to get you alone, Kurt. I need to do something. You're everything to me, Kurt, and I need you to know that. You're mine." Blaine's tone had gone from joking to suddenly serious. Kurt's panic sensors were going off, sending waves of adrenaline to his body. He still couldn't move his arms or legs, but his fingers were regaining feeling. Blaine had always joked about keeping Kurt all to himself and making sure no one else had him, but those were just jokes. No one minded them, Kurt just laughed along with Blaine and brushed them off his shoulder. But now he couldn't help but think that Blaine was being serious all along.

Blaine picked up a scalpel and swiped it through the air a few times, catching the brightness from the blinding lamps and making the room shine with mirrored light. It eerily reminded Kurt of _Sweeney Todd_. Kurt blinked back tears, hoping Blaine was just messing around or he was in some violent fantasy, but fearing the worst.

"So, I wanted to do something that would brand you as mine… something that would tell every man who tries to pull something on you that they are messing with property belong to Blaine Anderson. I don't like it when other people touch my things. I saw the way that waiter was looking at you at Breadsticks the other night."

Kurt could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He was going to die and it was going to be painful and Blaine was going to do it and have no mercy.

"Blaine, Blaine, we can talk about this. You don't have to do this." Kurt's pleads were wasted however, as Blaine promptly covered his mouth with duct tape from under the sink.

Blaine took the scalpel in his left hand and used his right to flip up Kurt's gown, exposing his body. Kurt's white boxers seemed to mock him. Blaine cut the boxers off with the scalpel and haphazardly pulled them from Kurt's body. When Kurt began to aimlessly move his arms to attempt block Blaine, Blaine just duct taped his arms to his sides and smirked.


End file.
